


Lesser Evil

by Kahtya Sofia (KahtyaSofia)



Category: Robin Hood (BBC), True Blood
Genre: Last Author Standing - tvnetwork2, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-28
Updated: 2011-03-28
Packaged: 2017-10-17 08:41:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/174984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KahtyaSofia/pseuds/Kahtya%20Sofia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt: [character] dreams about [character].</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lesser Evil

**Author's Note:**

> While this pairing and this crossover don't seem to make sense at first, it's funny how it came about: I was right in the middle of writing a Generation Kill / Strike Back crossover, so I was already enamored with the aesthetically perfect bookending of Alex Skarsgard and Richard Armitage. The prompt arrived and I COULD have written Generation Kill / MI5 (Spooks) for the LAS, but I'd already written a GK story, so I searched my head for what to do. As luck would have it, I had just finished watching S3 of Robin Hood. I thought, PERFECT! Sir Guy encounters Godric and Eric in France before he came back to Nottingham. And voila!

Guy’s body was slammed back against the rough, stone wall. Sparks erupted behind his eyelids. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t open his eyes.

Pushing through the radiating pain, Guy shoved hard at his attacker. Where he expected firm, warm flesh, there was cold, hard granite beneath his palms. The force pressing him against the stones did not shift.

 _“Please, please fight me,”_ a voice spoke accented French against Guy’s ear.

His eyes snapped open, and Guy looked upward into a pair of frigid, blue eyes. He swallowed hard under the hungry gaze of a predator. The man was a giant. Since his sixteenth summer, Guy himself had stood shoulders above all French and English he’d encountered.

This man was taller even than Guy.

 _“Erik, don’t break your new plaything,”_ a second voice, also in accented French, drifted from just behind the giant.

 _“This one has fight in him,”_ the giant replied, his smile feral.

Guy wanted to speak, but the giant’s grip around his throat was choking. He shoved and kicked, but the giant used the entire length of his body to press Guy’s back to the wall. Against his hip, Guy felt an additional growing hardness. Fear turned his mouth dry as dirt.

 _“Erik, my child, why do you so enjoy playing with your food?”_ said the voice behind the giant.

 _“Because so few have spirit enough for resistance, however futile,”_ the giant replied, still smiling. He leaned forward, pressed his lips to Guy’s ear and inhaled.

His captor pulled back and Guy assessed him. Straight, white-blond hair hung to his tunic collar. His features were sharp-edged. He brought to mind the northern men; the barbarian warriors who’d conquered Normandy.

Guy’s eyes were drawn to the giant’s – Erik’s – slightly parted lips. As he watched, two of Erik’s teeth grew longer.

Guy’s mind screamed one word. _Vampyre!_

Faster than he could see, Erik tore open Guy’s black linen tunic. He nuzzled his face into the long, dark hair that curled at the nape of Guy’s neck.

Something wasn’t right. Guy hadn’t had long hair that night. He hadn’t yet taken to wearing no color, save black. That had come _after_.

Guy felt Erik’s lips on his neck and he stiffened in fear, sucking a ragged breath through his teeth. Erik growled against the shell of Guy’s ear, pressing his hardened cock into Guy’s hip.

 _“Yes, keep this up and I’ll drain you slowly. I’ll allow you to be the last in this village to die,”_ Erik whispered, licking the line of Guy’s jaw.

 _“He is beautiful, Erik,”_ the speaker emerged from behind the giant, revealing a youth of usual height. His long teeth proved him vampyre, also. _“He is like you, exceptionally tall and sturdily built. His pale eyes are also like your own.”_

 _“He bears northern blood,”_ Erik said, licking Guy’s lower lip, running his palms over Guy’s naked chest. _“Whelped by a bitch of Normandy?”_

 _“Possibly. However, look at his pretty face. Particularly the shape of his nose. No Saxon, or Gaul blood, spawned such a face. This one descends from the bastard child of a Roman Legionnaire.”_

Guy felt ill, examined and discussed as if he were a Palfrey offered for sale.

Erik startled Guy, placing the flat of his palm against Guy’s belly, sliding it downward to the opening of his trousers.

 _“Non,”_ Guy protested, despite the tightness in his throat. He gripped Erik’s wrist with both hands. He knew the vampyre _chose_ to yield. Guy knew he hadn’t the strength to prevent Erik’s touch.

 _“He resists me, Godric,”_ Erik’s voice held disappointment. _“I had not wished to use glamour_.”

 _“Perhaps other incentive can be found?”_ the smaller vampyre spoke as he stepped out of sight behind Erik.

Shifting slightly to the side, Erik pressed Guy to the stones with a single hand on his chest. He rubbed his erection rhythmically against Guy’s thigh.

Guy blinked, struggling to focus on the vampyre, Godric. He sat in an ornate, high-backed chair, a dark haired girl-child in his lap.

Isabella.

Guy struggled afresh, desperate to save his sister.

“If your new toy doesn’t want to play nicely, I’ll drain his sister, instead,” Godric now spoke in accented English. With one hand, he lifted Isabella’s long hair from her slender neck.

“Leave her be, she’s just a child!” Guy cried.

“Do you submit?” Erik demanded, fingers stroking Guy’s cheek.

Reluctantly, he turned his face toward Erik. Guy’s heart slammed against his ribs, his gaze snared by the vampyre’s coldly calculating one.

“Yes,” Guy whispered.

Erik opened his mouth wide, pulled back his head, and struck.

Guy sat up, gasping. His hands scratched the side of his neck, where it met his shoulder. With his calloused fingertips, he felt only small, smooth scars. No fresh wounds.

Blinking against the darkness, Guy finally recognized his surroundings. Relief washed over him. England, not France. He was safe in his bedchamber, inside Locksley Manor.

On shaky legs and still fully clothed, Guy staggered from his bed to stand at the open window. His hand trembled as he stroked the two small, circular scars. Guy stared out at the infernal English mist that continuously shrouded the land.

Guy no longer believed in the Christian God. Still, the Fates of his Roman ancestors must have intervened, and he’d received the offer for Isabella’s marriage. It had been immense because the match was obscenely inappropriate. Isabella was barely thirteen.

Still, marriage to a man was a kinder fate than death at the hands of a vampyre. The offer had provided Guy the capital he’d needed to flee Erik, before he’d lost the will.

In the courtyard beneath Guy’s window, the mists parted to reveal a diminutive figure wearing peasant garb. The mists receded further, and a second figure came into view.

Recognition turned Guy’s blood to ice.

At the sight of the extraordinarily tall, broad shouldered giant, blond hair falling past his shoulders, Guy realized he had fled, but there was no escape.


End file.
